


Pumps

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: The Adventures of Cooper and Jones [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betts and Jug are neighbors in this little verse btw, Betty Cooper is good at everything, Betty's really good at giving head, Cooper and Jones, F/M, Jughead is a sugar shoe-daddy, Jughead might be the luckiest man alive, Riverdale Kink Week, Shoe Kink, also she is a queen, bughead - Freeform, is what I mean by that, sort-of 69 but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 06:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16131953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Jones and Cooper go shopping for shoes.Forredcircebecause they are beautifulAlso, click the link above for amazing art manips in a variety of fandoms.





	Pumps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcirce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcirce/gifts).



“I was thinking a pair of those kind of sandal thingamabobs, with a thin band that goes over your toes. The color of – what is it called? Beige? Nah, that sounds too much like paint chips at Home Depot. Oh, and ankle straps. I’m all about ankle straps.”

“Jones,” Betty says. “Have you been researching pumps?”

His winter gaze slides over her thighs up to her face. “Maybe.”

They stop at a red light. Betty has the confused impression of lights against a twilight sky, the shop marquees starting to glow as day bleeds into night. Their destination is the last store on Main, a new and expensive boutique where Jughead is going to buy her shoes.

“Nude,” she says.

He covers his mouth in mock-horror. “What did you just say?”

“Don’t get too excited. Nude is the color you were thinking of for those shoes, not beige.”

Jughead takes one hand off the gearshift and twines his fingers with hers. “Nude, huh? Nuuuuuude. I like it.”

Betty smothers a grin. This thing between them is new, so new it seems as though there are two versions of Jones. One is the boy she’s known all her life, the guy who’s her best friend and confidant. The other is six feet of sex who makes her head swim. The thought makes her suck in breath, and she feels his gaze flick over her.

Possessive.

Contemplative.

As though he’s considering what they’ll do later with all those new shoes.

Jughead slings the truck around the corner and parks in a tiny alley. She’s about to open the door and jump out, but he catches her elbow and pulls her in for a kiss.

Kiss: if you can call it that. Jughead’s kisses are filled with nibbles and smoke, his teeth on her lower lip, the merest hint of tongue. “I’m going to watch you try them on,” he says into her mouth. “Gonna watch you walk around the store in shoes I’m buying for you.”

#

His palm hovers on her lower back as they walk into the fancy boutique, a store Betty has never dared to enter. “It’s the best,” Veronica has enthused to her over the phone. “I _forbid_ you to shop anywhere else.”

Betty halts in the entrance. The place is done in black and silver, with long shelves of shoes lit from below. A salesperson shimmers out of the shadows and wafts forward, her elegant dress a perfect match to the shop’s décor.

“Oh Jesus,” Jughead murmurs. “Suddenly I’m scared.”

Betty’s about to suggest an escape to the nearest Payless, but already it’s too late. The woman is moving forward, threaded brows raised in pained enquiry. “May I help you?” Her voice is filled with contempt like a full beer too close to the edge of a table.

“Oh. Um. Uh.” Jughead waves around the shop with one flailing arm. “We thought we – we’re going to look around. Thank you,” he adds.

“Come on, Jones.” Betty puts her arm through his and pulls him to the shoe display. The lady’s disdain has made him wilt, beanie drooping on his untidy curls. “Let’s look for those nude sandals we were talking about.”

“That’s so 2013.” The Black Swan follows them, breathing down Betty's neck. “If you want cutting edge, I suggest burnt umber or ballerina pink.” Her quick up-and-down takes in Betty’s sweater, jean-skirt, and worn flats from the outlets. “Probably pink.”

A flame of anger ignites in Betty’s belly. “Nude shoes are classic and go with anything,” she declares. “Would you please find us several pairs in size 7? Highest heels you've got. Thank you,” she adds with finality.

The Black Swan stands for a moment, brow arched like a grand jete, before she pivots and heads to the back. Betty hears Jughead blow out a long sigh of relief, and he collapses into one of the leather-covered chairs. “Ow,” he adds, rubbing one butt cheek.

“What the hell’s wrong?”

“This is the least comfortable furniture known to mankind.” He perks up and points to a pair of high red booties with deep-plunge vamps and ruffles caressing the ankle on display. “Wow. Gosh. Look at that red, and the leather. You’d look swell in those, Cooper.”

Since Black Swan isn’t around, Betty picks one up. She checks the price and hurriedly replaces the boot on its crystal stand. “Ow is right. These cost more than my laptop.”

She feels him tug the hem of her jacket and turns. Jones is smiling up at her, his face soft with something more than friendship. “I told you I worked some extra shifts. My goal tonight is to spend way too much money on shoes, take you back to my place, and watch you try them all on.”

“Listen, I don't know …”

Jughead leans forward and leans both elbows on his knees. “ _Please,_ Cooper.”

When he looks at her like that, there’s nothing else to say but Okay. “I’ll ask Black Swan to get us a pair in my size. Plus maybe these pumps? And those fluff-toed slippers? And those laced-up stilettos?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. And what did you just call her? Black Swan? That's perfect, actually.”

“Shh. She'll hear. And yes, I did.” They exchange conspiratorial looks.

Curious, Betty runs the point of the shoe she’s holding up the inseam of Jughead’s thigh. He draws in a sharp breath and quickly covers her hand with his. “Not here,” he whispers. “Later, in my room."

“You like when I do that?”

“Like it? _Like_ it? You have no idea. There are no words, actually. By the way, did you say size 7?” Betty hums assent, and he points to the red boots. “Pretty sure that’s size 7.”

“Oh my, how convenient.” She kicks off her flats. Drunk on new power, Betty leans over him and flanks his Converse with the red leather boots. Jughead lets his head fall back so he’s looking up at her, and she’s looking down at him, and very gently he strokes her waist with his thumb, a king surveying the latest addition to his harem. He manspreads, forcing her legs further apart.

It might be the most erotic moment of her life.

Maybe her movement makes the price tag visible. With a gasp, he lets go and points to the numbers. "Cooper," he hisses. "Did you see that price? Take those second mortgages off your feet this instant."

She giggles and reaches behind her to pull one off. He might as well enjoy the show, even though the boots are far beyond their means.

“Hey!” Black Swan flounces out of the back with a pile of boxes. “I never said you could try those on!”

Their moment is destroyed like a burst bubble. Betty watches Jughead deflate, and her stomach knots. “We’re taking these,” she snaps. “Wrap them up.” She’ll raid her savings fund if need be, just to deflate Odille and make Jughead feel like royalty.

#

Her palms rest on the windowsill, her skirt is on the floor, shirt tossed into a corner. She’s wearing nothing but silk lingerie and her new red boots, cut low enough to see toe cleavage. Apparently that’s a thing, and apparently Jughead really likes it.

Betty grinds against him, earning a growl of approval from her … whatever Jones is to her. Best friend, yes, lover, and – shoe-daddy, is that a thing? “Are you my sugar shoe daddy?” she whispers.

He bites his way up her neck with exquisite precision, his lips stopping at her ear. “That’s exactly what I am, Cooper. I’m your daddy and don’t you forget it.”

Her new heels raise her to his height. _We’re at the same level, I can feel his hardness against me even through his jeans,_ Betty thinks, _it makes him whimper._

She can make Jones whine with desire for her, and it’s one hell of a kick.

His hand claps over her mouth. “Not too loud,” Jughead whispers. “We have to be quiet.” Without thinking, Betty tongues his thumb. He curses and bucks against her, and all of a sudden it’s not enough.

Turning, Betty pushes his chest. “I want you in my mouth.”

Jughead’s eyes go huge. “Really? You do? Are you sure?”

“Get on the bed and take these off.” She tugs one belt loop.

“Okay. Okay. Okay.”

She knows exactly what he needs. Betty kneels beside him and swings one leg over so Jones can see her silk-clad butt. He can also see her new heels, lick them if he wants.

 Jones is hard in his boxers, full length of him rearing into her hand. Betty blows a stream of air over him and strokes his cheek with the toe of her boot. His gasp makes power run through her veins like liquid fire.

Betty peels back the waistband of his boxers and sucks him into her mouth, letting her fingers explore the most vulnerable part of Jones: an unexpected tickle. He’s stroking her ankles and kissing her thighs, but when she twists into a deep-throat, Jughead arches and lets loose a sobbing cry. “You’re so good at that, damn it Cooper, how did you get so good at that?”

His thumbs dig into her hips, pull her closer, and maybe he’s about to return the favor but Betty licks her palm and cups him and swallows around his length. He’s throbbing against her tongue, always the best part. She could do anything she wants in this frenetic little moment.

Jughead curses and rears up again. He shoots into her mouth, once and twice and more. It’s bitter, foreign, pure. When she pulls back to admire what she’s done, one last pearl of liquid spills from the slit and makes her mouth water.

The mattress shifts, and Betty feels her body pulled up to lie with Jughead, face to face. For a minute they stare at each other, wide-eyed. His chest is heaving, mouth forming a silent O as he blows out a long breath. “You didn’t get to...” Jones begins.

“It’s okay. I enjoyed every moment.” Impossible to put into words the electricity still flowing through Betty’s limbs, increasing even now as she watches Jughead’s soft and relaxed expression. _I did that,_ she thinks. And tomorrow, when they’re in Pops or at Sweetwater with Archie or Veronica or both, she’ll watch him talk and laugh with typical hard-edged sarcasm, and she’ll know exactly what can take him apart. This, in her opinion, is almost better than orgasm.

“Next time,” Betty continues in a whisper, “you can sit on a pillow or a beanbag. I’ll wear the nude sandals to stand in front of you. You can look all you want and have a taste. It’ll be so perfect, Jones.”

“Perfect,” he repeats before drawing her into a sleepy kiss. Probably she tastes like him.

Soon she’ll have to head home. Jones will make his usual joke about giving her a ride, and she’ll laugh and push him and say _I live right next door, remember?_ and he’ll walk with her anyway, and in their new and deepening intimacy they’ll hold hands and kiss on her porch.

Jones and Cooper, Cooper and Jones.

They’ll hold hands.

And kiss.

On her porch.

**Author's Note:**

> I grew up on a farm and can attest that black swans are beautiful bastard birds.


End file.
